Devil's Child
by Eratosthenese
Summary: A gypsy befriends Erik when he's still traveling as the Devil's Child and plans to escape with him to Paris before their plans change drastically. Pre-opera house. Rated for leniance. Based off of ALW's.
1. prologue

**prologue**

His mother had hated and feared him. He spent the first three years of his life knowing only the immense loathing she felt for him, for his abhorred face. On the eve of his third birthday, a traveling circus of gypsies, passed through town. His mother had brought him, her face covered by a shawl, his hat pulled low over his eyes so he couldn't see where he was going. His mother had set him down on a bench and whispered in his ear for him to keep his head down so no one could see his face, and that she would be right back.

The boy sat, waiting, but the person who approached him soon after was not his mother. It was a rough man. He said his name was Abastado. At first, the boy struggled against Abastado's grip as he led the boy away, the cobbled streets racing through his mind beneath his small feet. Abastado's hands were coarse, and he made no effort to be gentle with the boy. All the boy saw was the brown hand covered in black paint and the street, the bumpy, slippery street below him. He had no idea where he was going. He didn't care. Nor did he care that his mother was not there. Perhaps his life was going somewhere new, exciting.

A few of the people visiting the circus bumped into the boy, throwing his shoulder back and knocking the pale hat off his jet black hair. His hands shot from Abastado's grip and covered his face, smothering his scar with trembling hands. Some people nearby gasped and screamed at the fleeting glimpse of the boy's disfigured face. He stood in the middle of the crowded street, a small clearing created around him as he shivered with fright, his hands grasping the right side of his face. His matted black hair was falling in sweaty knots, intertwining with his fingers.

Abastado had stopped walking when he felt the boy's hand slip from his grasp and turned to look at the sobbing creature. He took a few cautious steps forward and knelt down to eye-level with the crying boy. Slowly, he wrapped his spindly fingers around the boy's wrists and pulled gently away from his face. His eyes scanned the distorted face with worried eyes, when his mouth curled into a malicious, evil grin that frightened the boy. Abastado stood up so fast, the boy rocked and would have fallen over was his arm not firmly clasped in the man's hand.

Abastado was laughing maniacally, brandishing the boy's arm in the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he had said to the crowd, most of them covering their mouths in horror. "Ladies and gentlemen! I present to you … _the Devil's Child_."

* * *

I know this is short, but it's only a prologue. Chapters will get longer. Anyway, you know the drill. Read and review.

This is the first time writing a non-Harry Potter fic, but I suddenly became inspired to write this story. Here goes. If it doesn't have a good response, I'll just remove it and continue writing for my own enjoyment.


	2. electra

electra

The scarred boy said good-bye to home the next day when the gypsies packed and left in giant caravans pulled by monstrous horses. He followed Abastado like a dog, since he was the only familiar face. Many people glared at him while others smiled wickedly and greedily at him. Whispers tailed his back everywhere he went. It wasn't until what seemed like forever that Abastado concocted a mask for the boy. It was a small, coarse potato bag with rabbit's-ear knots in the corners from which two small holes had been cut out for the boy to see through.

He slipped the bag on over his head and the fabric began to itch him like a hoard of mosquitoes. He adjusted it so he could see through the two small holes, the rough strings tugging at his hair. He could hardly see through the holes. The world was two small openings before him through which the edges were blurred and only a small pinprick in focus.

The boy sniffed.

The cart in which he and Abastado were traveling was smelly and coated in hay. A few other gypsies were littered around the edges and one caught the boy's eyes, his limited vision taking in every detail of the gypsy.

She was watching him with dark eyes, outlined with thick black lines. Her dark green-brown eyes drilled a hole through his mind, a piercing gaze breaking his layer.

The boy began to cry as she watched him, thankful that he finally had something with which to hide his face. He looked down at his hands which were clutching each other like lovers, snot dribbling down his face, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He was still silent.

An inaudible sound brought his attention back to the lady-gypsy. He lifted his head the fraction of an inch until a blurry outline of the girl was detectable. Her lips were moving. In curiosity, the boy looked directly at her, so his focused prick of vision was placed upon her. He could tell that the movements her lips were making created words, but he somehow felt incapable of telling what they were.

The boy looked over at Abastado, who had fallen asleep and was snoring loud enough to be heard over the rattling of the caravans. He looked back at the girl and got down on his hands and knees and crawled over to her, the tears leaving dried paths of salt on his cheeks. She got down from her spot on the benches and sat down on the hay-strewn floor in front of him just as he reached her. He sat down and cradled his knees, wrapping his arms around them.

"What's your name?" she whispered, her voice hardly making it's way to the boy's ears through the racket of wheels.

He did not reply at once. He just let her stare at his eyes through the holes.

"What's your name?" she said again, louder this time.

"…" he mumbled.

"I can't hear you through the bag," she said, smiling slightly, her white teeth contrasting dangerously with her dark skin. Her dark, dirty, ringed fingers slowly lifted and clasped the bottom of the bag. There was a split second where she hesitated, not sure it she wanted to reveal his face. She had obviously never seen him before.

Then, without warning whatsoever, she whisked the bag off his head and dropped it to the floor. The laughter in her eyes disappeared with the sight of his face.

"Erik," he said.

The girl did not say anything.

Erik had a beautiful face, on the left side. The right side of his face was coated in what looked like a severe pink mask, contrasting with his tan skin. His eye was pulled down in a drooping gaze, like a sad puppy. The ridges and bones on his face were sharply and grotesquely emphasized by distortions. It looked rather like a large third degree burn had devoured half of his face, chewed it and spit it back onto his scalp again.

The girl lifted a trembling hand to touch his face, but he shied away, hiding his face with his hand and she promptly retracted her hand.

"Erik," she repeated matter-of-factly. "That's a wonderful name. It's very … final."

"Final?" he asked, not looking her in the eye, his hands still covering his face, his left eye roaming the floor of the caravan.

"Yes. That's a good thing."

Erik nodded. "Where are you from?" he asked.

The gypsy laughed. "When you move around as much as we do, you aren't from anywhere. But my name is Electra." She smiled sheepishly. "My father was Greek. It means 'the shining one'."

"Electra," Erik repeated.

"Very good. What does your name mean?"

"I don't know."

"Are you joining us?"

"I don't know."

Electra grabbed Erik's wrists and pulled them gently away from his face. She lifted his chin with her finger and turned his head to look at her.

"Don't hide your face, Erik. People will think you're ashamed."

"I am ashamed." Erik buried his face in his hands once more and Electra pulled the small boy towards her, embracing him in a comforting hug.

"Don't ever be ashamed of who you are."

Erik pushed himself away from her and started screaming, awakening a few gypsies nearby. "This is not who I am! I am _not_ a monster! I AM NOT A MONSTER!" He slammed the bag over his head and stood, pathetically, trembling and his body shaking from the sobs which involuntarily escaped, his arms glued to his side. The sad eyes stared down at Electra who looked at him from the floor, at the sniffling boy.

He was just a boy, still a child.

* * *

Hey, this is really cheesy, and for that I apologise. I just really wanted to introduce Electra.

BTW: If any of you were wondering, "Erik" is Scandinavian (?) and it means "Honoured Leader".

Review Responses:

**Chibi Hime:** I really wanted to capture his tortured character as early as the prologue. Just, it makes him more ... pitiful and more of a likeable character. I want to hug him instead of scold him just thinking of the past he earned. Also, Abastado isn't the gypsy he befriends. That would be a terrible friendship, eh? Lol.

**Doomed Delight: **I realise that it's the most _unoriginal_ story _ever_, but I really needed to write it. It's a very random story of how it came about, and I still have homework. Lol. I'm glad that some writing talent - if not for the lack of my original plot creation talent - might bring you back for another chapter at least.

**sparklyscorpion:** I must say ... sniff, you worded that wonderfully. I love it when people examine my work. Lol. It makes me see things I didn't see. But I'm glad you liked it so far. Hope I didn't let you down!

**PentagonMerlin:** That was ... um ... a ... meaningful review?

Leave a review!


	3. lyon

Sorry it's been so long, but with a cold comes writer's block, so what can you do? Anyway, I don't usually do this, especially so early on in the story, but seeing as how it's been a while... I'd like to recap:...

...Erik was ditched by his mum, and now he's friends with a 14 year old gypsy named Electra.

How pathetic was that?

* * *

**lyon**

Erik did not know why he was traveling with the gypsy troupe. All he knew was that he must not have been very important because he slept in a cage. Where he was locked up for most of the time was a small box made of metal bars and coated in dirty hay. He felt like an animal, a locked up animal on display. What he did not comprehend, however, was that most animals people looked at were beautiful. The picks of the litter. Erik knew that he was not the pick of this litter, not the most beautiful of the gypsies. Perhaps that was why…

Electra was shadowing the fortune-teller, finding out all the secrets of the talent, the path to the Inner-Eye. Erik did not know why she did it, because she was always complaining to him. He often did not understand a lot of it. She was angry, and he let her rant, let her words flow to him and over him then continue to swirl behind him in a scary flash of memories.

She knew, of course, that he could not understand what she was talking about, but it helped, she said.

"It's nice to know that someone is always there so you can talk. Even if they're not listening."

Erik was not sure he understood that either, but when she told him "You can tell me anything", _that_, he understood and for the first time in his life, Erik did not feel alone.

He had a friend.

The two of them often ate together. Sometimes, Electra had to run off with her master and inspect a strange materialization in the crystal ball, or an interesting pattern in the tarot cards. When that happened, Erik would just eat from his wooden plate in a corner, slipping his fingers under his mask to eat the food.

His mask had become a face. He hardly ever took it off. On occasion, when he was alone with Electra, but never when other people were around. He hated the stares. He was frightened of what would happen when the traveling fair reached their next destination, frightened of what Abastado would do. If he would rip the mask off his head and hold him up for the entire world to see the _Devil's Child_, just like he had when his mother abandoned him.

One day, when Electra had snuck off from her cabin where she slept with the fortune-teller to spend the night with Erik, as she had done so many times before, she had told him something he had never heard before. His mask was sitting beside him and he was clutching the bars, his head pressed up between them like a child gazing with relish at a candy store just out of reach. His wretched pink face was smiling contentedly as he spoke with Electra.

She was not wearing any makeup and her appearance was much less frightening, less threatening. She did not look as much like a gypsy.

Electra had stopped speaking and was just looking at Erik. There was no smile on her face, no hidden joy in her eyes, she just looked at him, her fierce eyes peering through his thick, disfigured mask.

"You really are beautiful," she had said. "You really, truly are beautiful."

Erik had not known what to say. He just starred right back at her, his mouth somewhat open.

Electra smiled, flashing her pearly whites, turning her gaze to her bare feet, seemingly embarrassed. "If only you were five years older." And she laughed again. He nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to. "What is it you like, Erik?" she said.

"I like cheese," he said, unsure, once again, of what she meant.

Electra laughed. "No, I mean, what is it you like doing?"

"My mother would sometimes sing in the room next to mine."

"You like singing?"

"I like how it sounds."

"What does it sound like?"

"Music," he said shyly.

"Have you spoken to Kalidas?"

"No."

"He sings."

"I'd like to meet him."

"Maybe he could give you lessons."

"Lessons?"

"You know," said Electra. "Teach you to sing."

"Me?"

"Why not?"

"I didn't know I could sing."

"Everyone can sing … I mean, isn't it talking, but moving your voice up and down a bit?"

Erik looked down at his dirty fingers. His black hair had grown a significant amount and was shadowing his eyes so he could not see the girl in front of him. But he could feel that she had lain down and was preparing to go to sleep on the dirty ground next to him.

"Good night, Erik."

"Good night, Electra."

* * *

They had reached Lyon, their destination. A big city, full of people ready to watch simple gypsies do simple tricks. 

Erik had never felt so unprepared in his life.

Abastado had continued to assure him that everything would be alright, but whenever Erik spoke to Electra, asking her what would happen, she would frown slightly and smooth down his mask with her long, spindly fingers. He hated it when she would do that. The itchy mask would rub uncomfortably against his distorted face, but he never said anything.

People were starting to enter the traveling fair, already set up. The caravans had created a circle with an entry for visitors. Erik had his own compartment. It made him feel safer.

Abastado hurried him into his cage and said, "This won't be me, kid. You understand?"

Not liking the feeling of stupidity which so often plagued him recently, Erik nodded.

"Good."

Abastado left the caravan and started shouting outside, words that Erik could not understand.

And then, the crowd entered and surrounded his cage…

* * *

Sorry it's a half cliffie... 

I just wanted to make a little announcement. It has recently been made inescapably clear to me that the play by Andrew Lloyd Webber and the novel by Gaston Leroux are both very very very very very very very different. This story is based off of the ALW version, no GL's. I may, at one point, write one about GL's, but this one is ALW. I'm saying this so as to avoid confusion and/or anger, and all of these things...

Let me know if there are any changes that might make this better, and if you would like to ... I dunno, somehow, contribute in a strange way (I don't mean by writing part of the story, but by a character based off of yourself or something like this) just drop a review and give me some useful info.

Now, to my few, but precious reviewers:

**PentagonMerlin**: HA! I can make you cry! Almost ... did I tell you the fourth viewing of PotO made me cry? So all you need is to see it four times. But now, my goal with this story is to make you cry. Even if it's just a tear. Then, we'll put it in a cup and keep it by the red rose that Eric with a c WILL give to me... ahem. But I will make you cry, one day. I swear it, you little, hollow tin creature. MUA HA HA HA! (I love you, Moony...)

**Chibi Hime**: Yay! I got sadder. How pathetic is that? I'm trying to make it sad. Lol. I'm glad you liked the whole "I'm not a monster." To tell the truth, I was actually quite proud with that scene. It showed internal struggle. lol. Can you tell I've been taking advanced English classes since seventh grade, and now I'm paying for it? lol. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

**ModestySparrow9**: I'm glad I've managed to capture the essence of youth, in your eyes, at least. I've always had trouble writing about characters younger than myself, and Erik's character is proving to be quite a challenge. If you can think of any other cute child ticks, let me know. lol. Sorry it took so long to update. Hope you're still somewhat into the story.

I am sad that I have lost **sparklyscorpion** and **Doomed Delight** as readers. Oh well... See you ... soon, hopefully...

BTW: Kaladis means "the poet, musician". I don't know why, but I'm having so much fun with the names.


	4. faces

Sorry it's been so long. You have to understand that... actually I have no valid excuse. I haven't felt the need to write so I haven't been on my cpu in ... like two months. Then today is a Snow Day, so why not sit down and write a bit? This chapter was surprisingly hard, but since it's been so long, I'll give you a recap:

Erik and Electra are very good friends when they enter their first ... Traveling Fair site thingy. People are admitted to see the _Devil's Child_ and Erik has no idea what to expect...

* * *

Faces… 

Erik remembered faces…

All those ugly, laughing faces, pressed up against the bars, their dirty fingers wrapping themselves around his prison, throwing things at him, money for the tamer of the Devil's Child and trash to spoil the Child, laughing…

Laughing faces…

One girl had brown hair that was tied back in a pretty bun. She had been laughing.

A man was eating a piece of beef. He had been laughing, too.

There had been a woman holding a little boy's hand. She was shielding the boy's eyes with her hands from Erik's face. Both were laughing.

Shrieks of fear and delight at his protuberant face.

All those beautiful people.

Laughing.

They had not been so beautiful in Erik's eyes, and he was almost sure that Electra would have found them as hideous as he had.

But all those faces, those laughing faces. Not once did they abandon him that night as he lay, alone, in his hay strewn cage, a few cold coins Abastado had missed still hidden amongst the rubbish.

Electra did not come that night. Erik did not know why.

_Perhaps she's still working,_ he told himself_. Perhaps her master kept her to clean up. Yes, that must be it…_ But Erik didn't believe himself. All night, the faces jumped around in his head, the loneliness pressing in on him. It wouldn't have bothered him so much – he was used to the laughing – but Electra's face was among those laughing. Her face, her beautiful face, was jeering along with all the others.

he told himself. But Erik didn't believe himself. All night, the faces jumped around in his head, the loneliness pressing in on him. It wouldn't have bothered him so much – he was used to the laughing – but Electra's face was among those laughing. Her face, her beautiful face, was jeering along with all the others. 

Maybe she did not think he was that beautiful. Maybe she had only been lying to him, all those times when she had hugged him like a mother would, all those times she slept with her back to his cage, her comforting warmth seeping through the bars.

Maybe…

Maybe she was just one of them…

_No! Erik thought. No! That's not true!_ He squinted his eyes and tried to blur out the image of her face, but it only pressed in closer against his brain. The more he pressed his eyes into his head, the harder she laughed, her bright, shining, laughing face imprinted on the inside of his black eyelids.

Erik thought. He squinted his eyes and tried to blur out the image of her face, but it only pressed in closer against his brain. The more he pressed his eyes into his head, the harder she laughed, her bright, shining, laughing face imprinted on the inside of his black eyelids. 

But the little evil voice in his head – the one who said he was ugly, the one who said he was wretched – was much louder than the voice that defended Electra.

* * *

"Are you OK, Erik?"

"Mm."

"Are you sure? You're being awfully quiet…"

"I'm fine."

"OK." There was an awkward pause between Erik and Electra. "Do you want to play a game before the Visitors come?" "The Visitors" had become a name Erik and Electra created for the people who came and gawked. It gave them a less humanistic appeal, and it helped Erik feel less like an animal in a zoo.

"Electra?"

"Yes?"

Erik paused, looking down at his dirty fingernails. "Do you—I mean, well … do you love me?"

Shocked, Electra stared at Erik in amusement. "Do I _love_ you?"

"You don't have to answer if you don't want," remedied Erik hurriedly. "It's just—"

"Erik." Electra cut him off. He looked up shyly from his hands, his distorted face twisted in fear, curiosity, so many emotions Electra could not count. She enveloped him in an enormous hug. "Of course I do."

Erik's arms were hung limply at his side, but after a few seconds, he slowly lifted them and wrapped his thin, skeletal arms around Electra. She was more like a mother to him than anyone else he had ever known.

That evil voice in his head – the one that slandered Electra – that voice had been silenced by the love of a mother.

* * *

Late one night, Erik had unlocked his cage and crept over the sleeping form of Electra. He had not forgotten what she had said about Kalidas … the music man. His obsession with song had grown since he had been a part of the traveling fair. He heard some gypsies sing sometimes at dinner. When she was in a bad mood, Electra would join them as well. Erik loved her voice, the soft way it entwined with the air around him, the smooth way it had to flow over his ears, through his head, intoxicating his senses and his mind.

Tonight, he would find Kalidas. He wanted to learn to sing.

The only problem was that there were many caravans in the Traveling Fair and he had no way of knowing which one was Kalidas'.

Erik tried to be as silent as possible when opening each door and looking inside, searching for any signs of hints that pertained to music. He had never been away from his own cart in a long time, and he found everything very interesting. He passed through a caravan with animals all sleeping in cages, just like him, he found what must have been Electra's caravan, full of cards and carpets and jewels and a crystal ball on a round table in the middle of the room. He explored this one longer than the others, but the strong perfumed smell that Electra sometimes carried in a diluted form drove him away.

He found what he was looking for in the next caravan.

A piano.

An enormous musical instrument. It called Erik to it like a moth to a beautiful flame. He climbed up on the seat in front of it, with some difficulty – being barely three and a half feet tall – and let his fingers caress the ivory keys. They didn't move under his soft touch, but rather enticed him. Enchanted him so fully he had completely forgotten what he had been looking for. Completely forgotten the barely sleeping Kalidas in the hammock behind him.

His ignorance and love for this instrument at his fingers clouding his judgement, Erik took a deep breath and started playing notes on the piano, discovering how each one sounded, how each one sounded with the other and imprinting it onto his memory…

* * *

**PentagonMerlin:** I know you wrote that ages ago, but it's still sad and pretty and let me know if there's something I can do for you...

**Chibi Hime:** Um ... yes... at least he ... has Electra. heh heh .well. You're going to hate me one day, but let's not hope it comes too soon. Thanks for still reading! LOL. Sorry the update was so long and not as good as the other one. oh well... we survive.

**ModestySparrow9:** Your reviews make me happier than most things. LOL. I love cheese as well, and you're welcome for updating. I like doing it. It makes me feel like I've accomplished something.Hope you're still reading and you enjoy this update as well.And I'm so happy you think this is original. i'm usually scared of posting cuz I think it's been done a hundred billion times.


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